


fistful of deviltry

by keleela (miikkaa_xx)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Religious, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Religion Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/keleela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Chen’s parish is full of sin, and Tao finds that Chen is just as bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fistful of deviltry

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** blasphemy, dirty talk

-

Father Jongdae is one of the youngest graduates from seminary school and surprises everyone by being assigned to one of the more affluent churches of the city despite his lack of experience. His parish consists of families living comfortably in suburbs, wearing their custom-tailored Sunday best, hands and throats and ears decorated delicately with priceless jewels that glint under the sunlight shining through the polished stained glass. The church itself is new and in mint condition - the pews still gleam when cleaned, none of the Bibles’ pages have been folded or ripped, and Jesus’ martyred body gleams high above the altar in perfectly captured agonizing glory.

It’s safe to say that Father Jongdae has somehow won the lottery of church assignments - perhaps being at the top of his class had won him favour among the elder priests, or even God, who swings circumstances to whichever his disciples are the most sinless.

Of course, with a parish as wealthy as his, Father Jongdae finds a serene gladness when he stands in front of the altar and sees their sins dripping from their fingers, their mouths, their eyes. He can see right through them - the endless greed, the unsatisfied gluttony, the ever-bloated egos, lined up pew by pew for Jongdae to watch every Sunday, play a game where he picks apart each new sin one has committed, bites his tongue so he doesn’t laugh when they enter the confessional afterwards and confirm his guesses.

The confessional is his favourite - a wooden box, painted from the inside with secrets, heathenous suggestions, the most grotesque sins. Jongdae makes sure it is cleaned every week so that each visitor has to face the gleaming wooden cross hanging on the inside, the still-smooth edges of the grille bumping against their lips as they whisper into Jongdae’s ear on the other side.

This Sunday has been plentiful. Park Chanyeol confesses of wanting to run away, breaking his own filial bond and disowning himself, besmirch the Park family name for generations to come. Do Kyungsoo murmurs of pain, his voice low and soft as he describes the flip-flop of pleasure in his gut when he sees someone’s face scrunch up in hurt. Oh Sehun is restless and anxious, stuttering of bodily reactions, doesn’t understand his own - how it comes in the night, leaves him weak and desperate by morning like a demon’s curse.

Jongdae soothes - that’s his job after all. The parents of these boys are much worse, but they come in the evening services, confess when the light of day is sinking in the horizon, as if God is heading to bed, unable to hear all the ways they sneak behind each other’s backs. For now it is the boys, and Jongdae tells them it is but a mind’s rebellion, that a few Hail Marys and a dedication to God will expunge them of such sinful torment.

His last one is mid-afternoon, when the church has emptied out and only a few cars linger in the parking lot - most of them belonging to church staff that clean up after each service. The sunlight that streams in is less harsh now, rays illuminating the dust in the air in front of Jongdae’s eyes as he stares at the inside of the confessional door, waiting for the next one to come in.

Finally, the door opens with a click. The body settles into the seat in a few seconds, and the door clicks again - now shut. Jongdae doesn’t peek through the grille, doesn’t want to spoil the surprise of his newest lost sheep.

‘Father,’ says the other, their voice sweet, airy.

Jongdae closes his eyes, tries not to smile. ‘Zitao.’

‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ Zitao begins. ‘It has been two weeks since my last confession.’

A beat. ‘Go ahead,’ says Jongdae.

‘I left in the middle of my last confession.’ Though Jongdae can’t see through the partition, he can imagine the other clearly - Zitao’s pretty, angled face, the easy smile, sharp eyes. How he wore his Sunday best like a prince to his throne, leaning back into the pew as if he knew sin could never touch something as beautiful as him. ‘I ran away - scared. I was scared of my own salvation, Father.’

‘God wants to save you,’ says Jongdae, his fingers twitching over the sleeves of his cossack.

‘Oh,’ says Zitao slowly, ‘I know _God_ wants to save me. I’m just not sure my Father does.’

At first Jongdae had scratched it up to probability. Statistics. With a parish this large, of course there would be at least one person - _one_ \- that would see through Jongdae. See through the faith that Jongdae preaches, the smile he puts on with practiced ease, the laughs that never reach his eyes, not _quite_. Just one person in that crowd that knows Jongdae for who he truly is - a priest who gorges himself on secrets, who fulfills his appetite with the humiliation of others, who adores this conduit of control that religion gives him.

‘Of course I do,’ replies Jongdae, tipping his head to the side so his forehead leans against the wooden partition wall, his mouth almost brushing against the lattice. ‘Tell me, so that I can absolve you, Tao.’

‘In my last confession, I told you Father, how I doubted your abilities.’ Zitao is always so blunt, so clear, in his expressions, his movements, his words. ‘I thought you were a bad fit for a priest. There’s something off about you - and you _agreed_.’

It was the surprise, Jongdae wants to say. It slipped my mouth. A mistake.

‘So I asked the others - y’know, about what you were like. At church or when they’re confessing. And they all say you’re kind. You’re helpful. You make them feel better at the end.’

‘That’s the idea.’

Zitao laughs, a touch sardonic. ‘I think it’s because you want them to keep coming back. Keep them - hooked.’

For a second, Jongdae imagines tearing the lattice apart. He’d reach through the opening, close a hand around Zitao’s throat, look at his beautiful face, hiss - ‘What do you know?’

‘I think you’re like me,’ he answers, and Jongdae bites his tongue so he doesn’t let slip anything else. ‘What you like, you want to keep. And you like this parish - you really, _really_ do. You want to keep them. And their secrets.’

‘Do you often make resounding conclusions about people with minimal interaction?’ Jongdae snorts, like his heartbeat hasn’t picked up pace, like there isn’t an electric feeling of anticipation under his skin. _Know me_ , something in him screams. _See me._

‘I’m good at it,’ he says.

Jongdae is silent.

‘I should go back to my sins.’ Zitao takes a deep breath, his clothes rustling as he adjusts in his seat. ‘I ran away from salvation. I gossiped about my own priest behind his back. I doubt his holy message to me. I want - ’ He cuts off.

‘No,’ Jongdae says, voice deep, quiet. ‘Go on.’

‘I want to know if I’m right,’ he says, voice trembling. ‘I want to know the truth.’

The silence that follows is heavy, electric. Jongdae can hear his own heartbeat thunder in his ears, wishing he could _see_ Zitao, judge his next move by the twitch of his expressions. Know if Zitao was intimidated or intrigued or bluffing.

No, Zitao wouldn’t bluff. He watches, he inquires, he bides his time until he’s prepared. Jongdae feels himself bare his teeth - a sharp burst of desire and frustration flaring up in his chest. ‘You want me to _confess_ to you.’

Zitao sighs out a _Yes_ like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

‘Where do I start?’ Jongdae challenges. ‘What do you want?’

‘Do you believe in God, Father?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you believe in sin?’

‘Very much so.’

‘Do you believe in absolution?’

Jongdae licks his mouth. ‘To a point.’

And of course, sneaky, tricky Zitao - who is much too intuitive for his own good - latches on. ‘Do you believe God will forgive all in your parish?’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about these people.’

Zitao’s voice is suddenly closer, the soft rustle of his clothes giving his movement away as he leans into the lattice. ‘Do you believe God will absolve you?’

Jongdae smiles. ‘Absolutely not.’

The answer seems to startle Zitao. Another flash of movement is caught in the grille, and this time Zitao’s voice is a bit more distant, reserved. ‘So you like it - watching people suffer.’

‘That’s a simple way of putting it,’ says Jongdae, closing his eyes. At first, he scratched up Zitao to the numbers, the probability. Someone would find out eventually - and it was this one. Now, _now_ , Zitao is proving to be far more fun, far more interesting. ‘I like watching people in pleasure too.’

‘Where do I fit in?’

‘Mm, most definitely pleasure.’

Zitao scoffs. ‘So you fuck your parish on the side too, Father?’

Jongdae shakes his head. ‘No, no. I would never dare touch anyone in my parish.’ He straightens in his seat, arranges his cossack neatly around himself, folds his hands in his lap. ‘I just talk to them - that’s what I’m here for.’

‘Are you going to talk to me then?’

‘Do you want me to?’ That electric anticipation is back in full-force, crackling just under Jongdae’s skin, making him far too aware of his own breathing, the sounds of Zitao’s clothes as he adjusts in his seat, how his voice sounds in the confined space of the confessional, reverberating between the wood panels.

Zitao doesn’t speak for a long moment, but when he does, his voice is steady. ‘Talk to me, Father.’

He has to pick the right beginning, the perfect hook. ‘You love God, Zitao. You believe in sanctity and salvation. You don’t deny yourself material pleasures if those clothes and jewellery is anything to go by, but... you still understand the importance of being spiritually clean.’

‘Looking good isn’t a sin,’ retorts Zitao.

‘Of course not,’ soothes Jongdae. ‘I just wonder if the expensive gems, the perfectly fitted shirt, even your shined shoes - is it all hiding something? Do you need to cover something up?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’ He’s defensive. The reaction makes Jongdae wants to laugh.

‘I do.’ Jongdae drops his gaze, half-cast, as he sinks into the image of Zitao he carries in his head. Beautiful and tall, sharp eyes to match sharp cheekbones, jawline. A throat that deserved to be decorated with far more than a starched collar. ‘I want to pick it apart - button by button. Starting from your neck, taking my time. All the way down where the hem is tucked under the waistband of your pants.’

Zitao is stubbornly silent.

‘Is it just skin underneath? Do you wear an undershirt like a _good_ boy?’ His voice has gone low. ‘I doubt it. It’s the way you sit, Zitao - like the pew is your throne, like you’re some boy-king with no stain on your hands. I want to _tear you apart_.’

‘Father - ’ starts Zitao, stops just as suddenly. An outburst of surprise.

‘You’ll let me won’t you?’ presses Jongdae, unrelenting. ‘I want to seat you on the altar, Zitao. You can feel the velvet under your hands - that’s what a true king wears. And I’ll kneel before you so I can slip off those pretty shined shoes of yours and drop them to the floor. You come with bare feet - I’ve seen your ankles. I want to dig my nails right into the bone.’

‘Why,’ he says softly.

‘I’m going to _break you_.’ Jongdae’s lip curls back, finds himself baring his teeth to no one but the cross that hangs in the confessional. ‘I want to strip you apart of all your pretty, expensive clothes and leave you in just your jewellery. And you’d like it, I think. You’d like stretching yourself out on that velvet cloth against bare skin.’

He can hear Zitao exhale, shift in his seat. ‘I’d scrape my nails down your thighs to make you spread them. Leave pretty red lines on your pretty gold skin. And you _would_ spread yourself open for me, wouldn’t you? You knew this was coming - probably thinking to yourself that you’re taller than me, you can push me away if it gets too much, if I get too close.’

There’s a dull thud. Zitao has knocked his head back, the lattice showing cut-out pieces of his exposed throat, how the adam’s apple bobs with his swallow. ‘Don’t,’ he says weakly.

‘But I _will_.’ Jongdae places a hand on the confessional wall next to the grille, leans in so his mouth is oh-so-close to the opening. ‘This is how I’m going to take you apart. By holding down your hips so hard they bruise when I take your cock into my mouth. I’ll be so generous - let you get hard between my lips as I lick at your dick. I promise it feels better than you can imagine. Better than your hand under the shower. Slippery-wet and hot.’

Zitao mewls, curses right after. So stubborn, yet refusing to leave.

‘Or maybe I should stick to what I have right here,’ says Jongdae, voice so sweet now ‘Walk into your side of the confessional and undo that belt, pull down that zipper. Will you do it for me, Zitao?’

Another flurry of movement - Zitao does as told, blurts out, ‘my shorts are still on.’

‘Oh, I love that,’ he drawls. ‘I’ll mouth over your dick, get the shorts damp with my spit. I think you’d like it messy. I want to feel the outline of your dick so I know what I’m dealing with, want to feel it get hard when I nuzzle it against my cheek, looking up at you so I can see your pretty face.’

‘Please,’ he says.

‘Spit in your hand, cup your dick over your shorts,’ says Jongdae promptly.

The wet sound is obvious. A beat later and Zitao moans softly, indicating he’s certainly following Jongdae’s instructions.

‘But,’ starts Zitao, his voice so sweetly breathless. ‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’ Jongdae leans his forehead on the wood above the grille, closing his eyes to focus on the sound of Zitao’s little hitches of breath.

‘What about your,’ Zitao pauses, inhales sharply. ‘What about your cock?’

The filth shoots down Jongdae’s spine. ‘Say that again.’

This time Zitao’s voice is steadier, more certain. ‘What about your cock, Father?’

‘Do you want it?’ A breath. ‘Do you want me to fuck you?’

Zitao mewls at the suggestion - such a perfect sound. ‘That’s - that’s what you want, isn’t it? To take me apart - from the inside-out.’

‘And I should do it by opening you up, is that it?’ Oh, if Zitao kept this up, Jongdae would never let him escape. ‘Slide into your ass and fuck you until you forget everything except how good it feels, erase every silly thought of absolution from your head, make you understand the only real bliss in life you’ll get is how hard I make you fucking come with my cock in your ass.’

‘Then _do it_ ,’ moans out Zitao, ‘fuck, please, these shorts - ’

Jongdae replies immediately. ‘Take them off, get your dick out. I want to hear you as you get yourself off, Tao.’

The quality of Zitao’s sounds change - louder, more obscene. ‘ _Ah_ \- like t-this?’

‘Yes,’ he hisses, hand on the wooden partition curling, nails digging into the grain.

‘I’m - I’m going slow,’ says Zitao, his voice trembling on the exhale. ‘Bet you’d want to see me. Haaa, fuck, my legs spread wide - _ah_ \- s-should I play with my balls, F-Father?’

Jongdae closes his eyes, tries not to claw the partition apart. ‘Do it.’

‘Feels _good_ ,’ he gasps, ‘oh - fuck - feels _good_ , I want to go faster, please, won’t you let me?’

It occurs to him that Zitao is trying to play him right back - get under Jongdae’s skin the same way that Jongdae has riled him up to this point. The attempt is clumsy, curious, but tinged with that same cleverness that has Jongdae want to sink his teeth into Zitao in the first place.

‘Go ahead. Is that what you want?’ He can hear the slick noise of Zitao’s palm on his dick, sliding down the length, making Zitao’s breath hitch, have him mewling when he rides a crest of pleasure from the friction. ‘All you want is to come?’

The hook. Zitao keens. ‘Your cock - _ahn_ \- want your cock too - ’ and takes the bait.

‘What’s that?’ Jongdae drawls, voice so casual when all he wants is to rip apart the confessional wall. ‘So you _do_ want me to fuck you?’

‘ _Fuck_.’ There’s another shuffle, movement, and the grille offers nothing but a flash of colours - the gold of Zitao’s skin, the white of his shirt, the black of his slacks. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

Jongdae grins wide, closes his trap. ‘Oh no, you’ve been so vocal so far, Tao. You’re going to have to say it.’

‘ _Father_ ,’ snaps Zitao, but it’s weak when his voice is so breathless. ‘Shit - feels good - want you - want you to _fuck me_.’

‘Yes.’ He inhales. ‘Again.’

And Zitao - oh, he’s giving in, so desperate and willing, finally folding underneath Jongdae. ‘Just - fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me.’

‘Here?’ They can’t stop now, Jongdae has to press. ‘Or should I bend you over a pew, fuck you like that? Maybe the altar, where you can lie back and take my cock over and over again? You’re going to have to tell me, Zitao.’

Zitao whines, like he’s figured it out. Like he knows Jongdae is standing there, listening, wanting to hear how Zitao wrecks himself. The slick sounds of him pumping his dick pause, and Jongdae listens to Zitao pant, try to catch his breath.

‘I wanna…’ He swallows, tries again. ‘I want you to come in here. I want you to force your fingers into my mouth so they get all wet. Bring them down to my ass - that’s what you want, right. To open me up so I can take your cock. Fuck - and I wouldn’t be able to come, not until you were inside me, pushing into me. Ah, hah - it’d _ache_ , fuck, and I’d feel it, feel it for _days_.’

‘Yes,’ says Jongdae, and he can feel how hard his dick has gotten, safely hidden under his cossack, but he can’t touch. He doesn’t touch - only talks. ‘Mm, feed my cock into your ass, slow and careful. Slide inside until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything except me inside of you.’

‘Why won’t you - ’ Zitao cuts off, voice replaced with the wet sound of him jerking himself off again, slowly this time, so that Zitao only whines under his breath. ‘Please. Fuck me.’

‘You know I won’t.’

A noise of frustration, followed by: ‘then at least make me come.’

‘That I can do,’ says Jongdae, wanting to laugh. ‘You should know I wouldn’t let you come until you were on my dick.’

Exhaling shakily, Zitao says, ‘yeah. Fuck - not until you were balls deep inside of me, right?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. Working you open real slow, cause you’d like that stretch. You’d be so tight and hot, fuck - shaking underneath me while you took my dick cause you’ve been waiting for it for so long.’

He can hear Zitao jerk himself off faster now, all those mewls coming back full-force, loud and breathless, a new edge of desperation to him now. ‘I can feel it - fuck, _fuck_ , inside of me, fucking me.’

‘Fuck you so fucking _good_ ,’ says Jongdae, almost a snarl, wants it to sound like a _promise_. ‘I’d fuck you like you _deserve_ \- make you work your ass on my cock until you were loose enough, until you were drooling for it. I’d shove you up this damn wall, slam into you - over and over until all you could think about was my dick inside of you.’

‘ _Shit_ , yeah, yes - ’ Zitao wails just a little, his free hand scrabbling for a grip on the bench, the wall, anything. ‘Fuck me, please, fuck me fuck me fuck me - ’

‘I’m going to bruise your hips with my hands.’ Another promise. ‘I’m going to keep you pinned, Zitao, as I fuck you until you come all over yourself. I’d work you through it, and even when you were all done - so pretty and soft all fucked out - I’d keep you there. Keep you for myself, cause I’m going to use you up, fuck you until I’m done too, and all you’ll be able to do is _take it_.’

‘Fuck, oh fuck, I’m - ’ His voice pitches, breaks. ‘I’m close, so _close_ \- fuck me, c’mon, fuck me, _ah_ \- come in me, _hah_ , I want you to come in me - ’

‘Of course,’ croons Jongdae, listening to how Zitao’s hand on his cock speeds up, no more rhythm now. ‘Not before you - I wanna feel you come on my dick. I want to feel your ass get so tight around me and how you shake with how good it feels. I want to fuck you through it so you’re so strung out, so _easy_ , and that’s when I’ll be ready.’

The confessional is full of Zitao’s moans, getting louder and louder the closer he gets. ‘I’m ready, I’m ready - ’

‘Yeah? Ready to be pumped full of come? I’d grind into you so deep, make sure you get it all - make sure you’ll always know what it feels like. Feel so warm and get so messy after, when it drips all out of you, stains your clothes so you’ll always know you got fucked like you needed.’

‘Fill me _up_ ,’ begs Zitao.

Jongdae growls. ‘I’ll make you leak for _days_.’

‘ _Fuck_ , oh fuck, oh fuck, ha - ’ He sobs as he comes, hand still working hard and fast to pump the rest of the come out of his cock. Jongdae can imagine it staining that heaving, golden belly, maybe even mess up the inside of Zitao’s button-up, get it sticky so he’ll have to remember what he did when he goes home.

He sits there, fingers still clawing into the confessional partition, breathing steadily by the grille. The silence is punctuated only by the rustle of clothes as Zitao puts himself back together. The only reasonable conclusion is that Zitao will step out, leave, never come back. Not when Jongdae is so obviously greedy for him, wants to dig his claws into Zitao and never let go. His gorgeous, clever Zitao.

Finally, Zitao seems to settle back onto his seat, his voice coming back, a little rough from all his pretty noises previous. ‘Next time…’

‘Next time?’ Jongdae starts, surprised.

Zitao pauses, hums. ‘Next time, I’ll make you touch me.’

Jongdae exhales. ‘You think you’ll take me apart first?’

‘I _know_ I can,’ he replies.

‘Next time then,’ says Jongdae, a little in awe.

‘Next time.’ Zitao stands, then places his hand over the lattice so Jongdae can see the pink flesh of his palm criss-crossed by the wood like a temptation. ‘Goodbye, Father Jongdae.’

Jongdae listens to the confessional door click open and shut and breathes deeply. It seemed he had found a new favourite in his parish. Until next Sunday.

-

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading; hope you enjoyed~


End file.
